


All days end eventually

by ErzaWritesThings



Category: What Happened To Monday (2017)
Genre: Murder-Suicide, Not A Happy Ending, Suicide, alternate ending to the movie, honestly why do i always have to write angst, why cant i just write someone being happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 20:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErzaWritesThings/pseuds/ErzaWritesThings
Summary: After the end of What Happens to Monday, things aren't the same. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday are dead, Tuesday might as well be and Thursday wishes she was. She sets things right the only way she knows how.





	All days end eventually

**Author's Note:**

> So... I went to see the movie today, and I loved it. Needless to say, I wrote a fic about it.

Thursday had always, deep down, known that things wouldn’t always stay the same.

They were siblings in a world where only single children had the right to live. Thursday, and all her siblings except for Monday, were never supposed to be born.

Monday should have been the one and only Karen Settman.

Not that she hadn’t tried to ensure that.

She had, for the most part, succeeded. When all was said and done, seven had been reduced to two.

Thursday had made it, and so had Tuesday. Monday, the one who had orchestrated it all, had fallen to her own deception.

Thursday couldn’t find it in herself to blame Monday for what she’d done.

How could she? Monday had been pregnant with siblings and terrified her children would have been taken and processed the moment they’d been born. She’d made a deal with Cayman for the sake of her babies. Had sold out her siblings to save them.

Thursday couldn’t honestly say she wouldn’t have done the same if she’d been in Monday’s position.

But at the same time… they, the seven of them, they’d made it for almost thirty years. They’d gone undetected and unsuspected for decades. And Thursday knew that she, and all of her sisters for that matter, would have worked even harder to stay hidden to protect Monday’s babies like they protected themselves.

But Monday had put her faith, and the lives of her babies, in the hands of Cayman and the Child Allocation Bureau.

And as a result, she had died, Wednesday had died, Friday had died, Saturday had died, and Sunday had died. Monday’s babies had survived, if barely, and were currently maturing in an artificial womb until they were big enough to be ‘born’. Their father, Thursday knew, spent most of his time with them. Tuesday had lost an eye, and her spirit. Her stay at the CAB facility and the forced removal of her eye had broken something inside her, and it hadn’t healed.

She called herself Terry nowadays, and her personality had changed as much as her name.

Thursday… Thursday had lost everything she loved in the world.

Her family had been everything to her. She’d put her heart and soul into her family, and losing all but one of them (all of them, because Tuesd- _Terry_ was as good as gone too) had given birth to a bottomless void inside her chest. It ate everything she was and felt and loved, and nowadays, Thursday felt more like the corpse she was supposed to be than an actual person. It made her wonder if this was what it felt like to not exist.

Sometimes it made her wish she had never been born.

That Monday had been the only one like she should have been, and that Thursday and the others had never been like they should have.

Things weren’t that easy, though.

Wishes didn’t stop the numb agony that swallowed up Thursday’s chest.

Wishes didn’t stop the bracelet that said that Thursday was the only Karen Settman now feel any less heavy.

Wishes didn’t stop Tues- _Terry_ from screaming in her sleep.

It didn’t stop Tues- you know what, _fuck Terry_ , as far as Thursday was concerned, Tuesday would always be Tuesday, and no one else- from staring into space, crying quietly, tears down only one side of her face because her new bionic eye couldn’t produce tears.

Thursday missed things the way they were. She missed being at home with all of her siblings healthy and alive and mentally sound. She even missed only being allowed to go outside on the day of her name.

Only that wasn’t possible anymore, because her siblings were dead and her world had collapsed and nothing was as it used to be anymore.

Thursday had not cried since the day she’d seen Monday bleed out on the floor, bullets in her shoulder and belly. It was like that part of her had just shut down when the on-site medics had cut a set of twins out of Monday’s dead body and rushed them towards the CAB infant dorms to keep them alive in an artificial womb.

But today… today it was like the tears that had been eating away at her chest alongside the void that would be Thursday’s only child had burst through the walls Thursday had put up, spilling down her cheeks without stopping and without permission. She’d stopped trying to wipe them away a while ago. It didn’t do any good anyway. It didn’t make them stop spilling.

Maybe today was a good day to let the tears she had trapped inside go, though.

Everything had to leave its safe place and be exposed to daylight at some point.

Thursday had learned that lesson as clearly as she had learned her lesson when her stupidity as a child had seen all her siblings lose a part of their right index fingers. She, too, missed part of her right index finger. She’d been the first to lose it. The only one out of seven to not have it cut off with a butcher’s knife by their own grandfather.

Thursday stroked the stump of her cut-off finger over the grip of the revolver, remembering, vividly, the screams of her sisters as they had lost the same piece of their bodies.

More, far more than fingers had been lost since that day.

Thursday shook her head, blinking the tears out of her eyes and grasping the revolver properly. It felt heavy in her hand, cold and uncomfortable. It felt like she was dreaming, a half-nightmare she couldn’t quite wake up from.

She stood, lifting the revolver from the safe - it had been a fight to get it back from the police after Monday had tried to kill her with it. It hadn’t been used since, but it was loaded. Thursday knew that, because she was the one to have loaded it after she’d gotten it back, so it would be ready for use should she need it.

Today she needed it.

Mechanically, she checked the cylinder anyway, finding a gleaming bullet in each chamber. She clicked it shut.

She didn’t bother to hide it as she slowly stumbled her way towards the bedroom. They’d all shared it, back when all of them had been alive. Nowadays, only she and Tuesday slept there anymore. Her legs felt like they wouldn’t quite support her like they should.

She dropped down on the edge of the bed bonelessly, making the mattress bounce underneath her weight. Tuesday startled awake, wide-eyed, then drooped sleepily when she saw it was just Thursday.

‘’Hey,’’ she mumbled drowsily.

‘’Hey,’’ Thursday responded. The hollowness in her voice made even her flinch.

‘’You’ve been crying,’’ Tuesday said, reaching up with one hand to touch Thursday’s face.

‘’It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.’’ Thursday grabbed the blanket with her free hand and pulled it a little higher over Tuesday’s shoulders. Her sister looked small, curled up in bed, eyes puffy with exhaustion and tears of her own, deep circled under her eyes. She looked drawn, and weary. Old. Tired.

Tuesday squirmed onto her back, scooting over a bit. ‘’Come lie with me for a while.’’

‘’Okay,’’ Thursday said. She kicked off her slippers and slowly laid down, letting the hand holding the revolver dangle over the side of the bed.

‘’Why are you crying?’’ Tuesday grabbed Thursday’s free hand and squeezed, urging her to talk.

‘’Today seemed like a good day for it,’’ Thursday said after a second of silence.

Tuesday hummed. Her eyes were already closed. She’d be asleep soon. She barely did anything other than sleep anymore. Whenever she was awake, she cried, or stared into space.

Thursday figured that sleeping was kinder to Tuesday than being awake.

The kindest, though, was if Tuesday had died at the CAB, so she wouldn’t have to experience this harrowing, drawn, simmering depression.

Anything, even death, was better than an existence like this.

Thursday stared at the ceiling, mindlessly waiting until her sister was asleep. Tuesday’s head lolled against her shoulder, even breaths against Thursday’s neck. When she was sleeping, Thursday stared at the ceiling some more.

The gun was heavy.

Thursday reached up with her free hand and gently pushed at Tuesday’s head, rearranging her position until they were temple to temple. She lifted the revolver and put the barrel against the side of her own head. The bullet should go fast enough, have enough power, to tear straight through Thursday, and then through Tuesday, especially at such close range.

‘’Today,’’ Thursday repeated to no one, eyes finally dry again, ‘’seemed like a good day for it.’’

After all, all days end eventually.

She pulled the trigger.


End file.
